Chapter 20

Home, or as much as you could think of it like that. You had managed to find a room to let for the summer, and two of the other three roommates were out on their own internships, leaving you with Mosche. He was nice enough, just very ‘New Yorker’ - curly brown poof of an afro, a nasaly way of talking about himself deprecatingly, and a social awkwardness that reminded you of some of the kids you’d grown up with.

Suffice to say, you did not want to attend Mosche’s latest Open Mic night. Because of course he had a dream of becoming a standup comic.

“Alright, well man, I’m gonna head out of here in a few,” he said, slowly pulling on his coat near the front door of the apartment. “You sure you don’t want to come out? There’s supposed to be a bachelorette party in the club tonight, and I could definitely use a wingman to make me look good.”

“Man, I’m totally wiped out,” you said from the couch. You were already in your loose sweatpants and an old high school athletics t-shirt. “But hey, you’re the comic. Shouldn’t you be wingmanning me at the comedy club?”

“Hah, yeah,” he said. “I guess. But you know me, man. All thumbs.”

What does he even mean by that? you wondered, but let it go.

“Well, break a leg tonight, dude,” you said. “You’ll get ‘em this time.”

“Let’s hope so,” he said, opening the front door.

It took another three minutes for Mosche to step out the door, and then actually close it. There was a part of you that felt bad - he was like a little puppy that just wanted a friend. There was another, much larger part of you that was screaming at him from inside your head Dear god, just leave already!

Any other night in the last four weeks since you moved in, you would have been game to tag along with him. You’d done so several times already, and had been pleasantly surprised to find out Mosche didn’t entirely suck at stand-up, and there were definitely much worse comics out there.

No, the reason you were screaming at him internally was because you wanted the freedom to jerk off without anyone else in the apartment.

Five minutes after Moshe was gone, and likely not to come back, you were set up in front of the TV, your phone ready to cast to it and show Sabrina in all her fullscreen glory, when a text came in.

Sabrina: So are you already satisfied tonight?

You snorted, shaking your head at the reference to your earlier conversation.

You: Was just about to decide what I should watch, if I’m being honest. How was tanning?

The text bubbles showing that she was replying popped up, so you waited, but then they disappeared. You were about to go back to your search when your phone started ringing - Sabrina calling you on FaceTime.

You accepted the call, and after a quick buffering you saw that she was holding her phone as she lay on her side. From the lighting she was clearly outside, and you realized that she was wearing your sunglasses that you hadn’t gotten back from her.

“Hey John,” she grinned. “I figured this was easier than typing.”

“Hey yourself, beautiful,” you said. “You look good in those sunglasses, but I think I’ve seen them somewhere else before.”

Sabrina’s grin turned into a smirk as she touched them, the bridge of her nose wrinkling as she got playful. “They really are Daddy-hot, aren’t they? I don’t know if I can give them back.”

“Eugh, really?” you asked. “‘Daddy’ hot?”